Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 50K, March 5, 2011

Desperately Seeking Rebecca
"I'm just crossing 495," Rebecca texts in response to my inquiry of her location. That's clearly wrong since 495 is  not on the way from her house to my house to carpool with me and Barry S to the start of the Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon and 50K.    Rebecca recognizes that she is chronically late, so she asked me to tell her an earlier time to be there but since she knew it was an earlier time, it didn't work and she is running late.  In a couple of minutes she zooms up, we pile in my car and head off to the finish to catch the bus to the start of the low-key point-to-point race.  And since I chronically plan to arrive early anyway, we get there in plenty of time.

On the bus, everyone puts their entry fee and entry form in the envelope that gets passed around as that is the procedure that has been used in the past.  But when we get to the registration area, we're told that this year we are to hand in payment and form individually, setting off a bit of a scramble to sort out the 35-40 checks, cash and forms.  But there is plenty of time and everyone gets registered and gets their number before Race Director Ed Schultze issues the Go! command at 8 a.m.

Start
It's a bit chilly in the morning and I'm wearing a long sleeve shirt over a short sleeved one, along with gloves, tights, a buff around my neck that I've pulled over my head as a balaclava and a hat on top of that.  I start off with Emaad B.who is running the marathon.  The only difference between the two courses is that the 50K runners will do a loop around Clopper Lake to add sufficient distance to make 50K.

Within a mile I pull away from Emaad and fall in with Michelle P. and Lorrin H.  They are running the marathon and I briefly think that staying with them may be a mistake as it will make me go out too fast.  On the other hand, I'm used to going out to fast and then trying to hold on, a rationalization for bad pacing.  Soon I've warmed up and shed the long sleeve shirt, buff and gloves.

We cross the rocks over Seneca Creek at about mile five.  There is a rope across the stream to steady oneself, but one foot slips in anyway.  Getting wet feet is always more feared than the consequences warrant, and the day isn't cold enough to cause any concern.

We get to the first aid station at Brink Road, around mile 7 and Race Director Ed is there pouring drinks for the runners.

About a mile and a half later the trail crosses Watkins Mill Road.  As I approach the trail head on the south side of the road, Ed is there again, this time carrying a satchel and running down the trail past me.  He had a report of a runner in distress and is headed to provide aid.  After about a half mile I catch up to him and overhear him talking on his mobile.  He is headed back to access the runner from a different direction.

What's Yellow and Read All Over (on the Trail)?
Shortly before the aid station at Route 355, about mile 11, the first of the inevitable signs appear.  The signs are the brainchild of Don L., master of the Route 28 aid station, at mile 25.5 of the 50K.  It is of a goldfish, or perhaps a goldfish cracker.  Soon the second  sign comes in sight, with what looks to me to be a yellow rubber ducky.  "It's a Peep," another runner says, and we good naturedly debate what is the correct interpretation. (Don L. later confirms that it is a Peep.)  On the other side of route 355 is the third sign, a banana peel.  That clinches it for me; the theme at the Route 28 Aid Station is yellow, I proclaim.  The fourth sign, a glowing  yellow light bulb is further evidence I think, but other runners are not entirely persuaded.

I reach the aid station at Clopper Lake, about mile 15, and start the loop around the lake.  Shortly into the loop, I decide that it is a bit too cool for short sleeves and swap the short sleeve shirt for the long sleeved one.  I run for a while with Kevin O'C. of Virginia.  We feel each other out about our ages, and he turns out to be two years older than me.  He is also the race director of the Swinging Bridge 35K and 50K in Cumberland, VA.  After leaving him I catch up with Michele M. and we chat before I move on.

Back to the Clopper Lake aid station at about mile 19, I rejoin the trial to head for the finish about 12 miles downstream.  After crossing Riffleford Road, I smell what I think at first is a barbecue, but then realize that it is the odor from the fire, driven by high winds and partly caused by exploding Pepco transformers, that swept through the area three weeks before.  For almost the next two miles, the grass has been scorched, in some places on both sides of the creek, and some tree trunks are blacked as high as eight to ten feet off the ground.  Spring is coming, though, and new shoots of green can be seen sticking up through the burnt grass.

And even here, there are more of Don's entertaining signs.  I chuckle out loud at the "Yellow Fever: Catch it!" one, and smile at  "Yellow cake: If it's good enough for uranium, it's good enough for our runners!"

After crossing Route 118 I spot Barry up ahead.  "Hey, Custer," I shout, "I'm coming to get you."  Barry spins around and strikes a mock kung-fu pose. "Martial arts won't do you any good at the Little Big Horn," I yell and then have to explain to a puzzled near-by runner that we are going out to run the Bighorn Trail Runs in Wyoming in June, and plan to pay a visit to the Little Bighorn Battlefield while in the area. Barry says that Emaad and Rebecca are together a little ways ahead.

I'm feeling pretty good, walking most of the uphills and running the downhills.  Don's signs are increasing in frequency as the aid station gets closer. Beyond Blackrock Mill on sign asks, "1 mile to Mellow Yellow / Are you sure you're not hallucinating?" and another promises "Yellow tofu: Not nearly as bad tasting as yellow cardboard!"

Sure enough, runners to the Route 28 aid station at mile 25.5 are greeted with: "Welcome to Mellow Yellow! / Sorry we're all out of hallucinogenic banana peels. / All that's left is sugary [stuff]."

Don only provides a single cup for runners to use, and in a moment of unusual delicacy, I pour Coke directly into my mouth rather than use the cup.

Emaad, running the marathon, is at the aid station talking on his mobile phone. "C'mon," I urge him, but he is in no hurry to leave.

Desperately Seeking Rebecca 2
He tells me he and Rebecca reached the aid station together and that she has left.  Maybe I can catch her, I think, although she can run fast when she wants to.  On the other hand, prior to the race she had talked about dropping out at Route 28 so maybe she is a bit tired.

Leaving the aid station is Don's final sign, and one worth a final laugh: "Next aid station in 6.5 [sic] miles. Color theme: Soylent Green."

I push on, alternating periods of running with an occasional walk, particularly on uphills.  The trail has mile markers every half mile and they steadily count down the distance remaining.

Reaching the final aid station at Berryville Road, around mile 30, Rebecca is nowhere to be seen, for good reason.  She will finish her marathon distance more than eight minutes ahead of me.

No matter.  I get across Hooker's Branch without getting my feet wet, go up and down the last few wooded hills to Seneca Road, then head down the packed dirt and gravel of Tschiffley Mill Road to the finish.  I'm in the company of Marina B. and Lisa J. but I can't keep up the pace and with a half mile to go tell them that I need to walk.  After a brief walk, I resume running to the finish, crossing the line in 6:32:41, 96th of 119 male finishers, 135 of 168 overall, at a pace of 12:39 per mile.

I'm quite pleased.  Continuing a trend from trail races last year, I've knocked more than 32 minutes off of last year's SCGT 50K time.
- - - - -
To read my report on the 2010 Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 50K, click here.

Washington's Birthday Marathon, February 20, 2011

How Long Will It Take?
"4:52."

Saturday night over dinner Sandy has asked me what time it will take me to run the George Washington's Birthday Marathon the next day, and after a brief moment of contemplation, I've responded with a rather specific prediction.  It's a bit of educated guess work but the degree of precision is not meant seriously.  I do think that I'll run under five hours, but not as fast as my two Fall marathons of 4:37 and 4:40.

Sunday morning is bright and cool and after feeding the cats and having breakfast myself, I get on the Beltway for the short drive to Greenbelt for the race.  It is the 50th Anniversary of the low-key race put on by the DC Road Runners Club and it starts at the rather late hours of 10:30 a.m., although I plan to get there in time to register and take the early start at 9:30 a.m.  The early start disqualifies one for any prizes, but I'm not going to be likely to get any, so it does not really matter.

Halfway to Greenbelt I realize that I've forgotten my watch.  Well, I think, this is going to make for some interesting pacing.

Early Start
Upon arrival, I quickly register and go to sign up for the early start.  The volunteer tells me that the early start is for runners who expect to take more than six hours and that anyone running  faster than five hours will be disqualified.  I protest that the website doesn't say that be he is insistent.  Friend Caroline W. tells me not to worry about it.

She also introduces me to Ed D., who is a very experienced member of the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club.  Ed is wearing a Bighorn Trails shirt, so I eagearly question him about the race which I will be doing in June.

Finally we stroll the couple of blocks to the starting line for the early start and without much ado, the 'G-O' command is given and the four dozen or so early starters cross the mat.

I set off with Caroline and Ed at an easy pace as we run the few blocks through Greenbelt, a planned community begun by the Federal government in 1937.  Then we enter onto the grounds of the USDA Agricultural Research Center and head down a long hill.  I joke with them that while we are running the three loops of the Center the race organizers come and make the hill steeper for our climp up it at mile 25.

City Boy
As we approach some fragrant piles near a building a runner says that there is nothing like the scent of pig manure.

"How can you be sure that's what it is?," I ask.

"You're a city guy, aren't you," he responds.  "There's nothing like the scent of pig manure."

During the first loop I catch up awhile with a couple. She's wearing a Megatransect shirt and we discuss her experience in that race that involves a scramble up a boulder field in central Pennsylvania.  Her companion brings up Comrades Marathon, one of the greatest footraces in the world, and that he had done it twice.  He tells a stirring story of reaching the finish with less than 3 minutes to spare within the very strict 13 hour time limit.  Based on my 50 mile times he assures me that I could certainly finish the 56 mile race in a 'down' year.  And 2012 is a 'down' year.  Maybe a trip to South Africa in May 2012?  Something that was off my list is, perhaps, back on.

The disadvantage of the early start is that the aid stations are not in operation yet.  Around mile 8, I catch up with an runner who is complaining bitterly about it.  I snap at him that the lack of aid stations for early starters was fully disclosed on the website and that he could have carried a bottle if that was a problem for him.  He just keeps on complaining.  I run past him and use the Porta-potty at the location of the next aid station, but where drinks have not yet been set up.  He passes while I'm inside, and when I pass him again, he continues to whine about the lack of water and then adds that a car had run him off the road.  I note to him that we are running on two-lane roads that open to traffic and that he needs to watch out for himself.

The first aid station with fluids is at the relay exchange point just short of mile 10.  I down a couple of cups of Gatorade and take a Succeed! salt tablet.

I'm wearing a pair of colorful Eric Clifton Jesterwear tights, blue with gold, and one of the women at the aid station complements me on them.  Then she reaches out and very gently touches the outside of my right thigh with a couple of fingers. "I'm not going to tell my wife that you did that," I say.  But in fact, when I get home, I do.

While running through the exchange area Kenny A. gives me a shout.  He's there to run a leg of the relay and I slow down to chat.  He urges me to keep going, but I tell him I'm just out to have fun.

Going 'Round
Starting the second loop I fall in with another of the early starters.  I tell him of my lack of a watch and he notes that we have reached the 10 mile mark in about 1:48.  I quickly - and surprisingly easily, since arithmetical functions are usually the first thing to fail while running - compute our pace as 10:48 per mile.  "That can't last," I say.

A couple of miles later I'm running and daydreaming when I'm startled by a voice behind me.  I must have jumped because the woman who has overtaken me apologizes for, as she says "scaring the crap out of you."

"I was asleep," I explain.

"Running coma," she responds, and we both laugh.

Shortly thereafter I peel off my long-sleeve shirt, remove the short-sleeve one underneath and re-don the former.  I fold the latter in half and tuck it into the back of my pants.  Since we are running loops, sometimes the mild breezes are to our backs, sometimes on the quarter and other times directly at us.  All day long I take my hat or gloves off and on, sometimes wearing only the hat or the gloves, or neither, or both seeking the perfect degree of warmth and never attaining it for long.

By now some of the relay runners on the second leg are flying past.  Less than a quarter mile beyond the halfway point, Carsten Brown, who will go on to win the race, glides by.  A couple of minutes later another one of the leaders go past.  The rout of the slow is on.

Over the gently rolling slopes of the I move on.  Without a watch I can't use the "run 7 / walk 1" strategy that I successfully used in a couple of Fall races, so I just walk some uphills when I feel like it.  And even though the course has mile markers, without a watch I can't gauge my progress.  On the other hand, running without a watch is liberating, as there is no tyranny of the march of digital numbers.  I can contemplate the vultures circling overhead at one point of the course - there's a turkey vulture, and that one might be a black vulture - without worrying that staring at the carrion eaters is costing me time.

Through the relay area again and on to the third circuit of the course.  Past the fields and woods and banks and buildings that make up the agricultural center, with one section echoing with gunfire from the near-by Prince George's Trap and Skeet Center.

Time without a Timepiece
Finally, it's back up the steep hill at mile 25, and indeed, it is steeper going up than it was going down 24 miles ago.  Run on a couple of streets, and turn onto the paved park path to the finish.  I fall in with Ron H. and tell him that we have no need to race to the finish as he is an hour ahead of me.  He corrects me and says that he also took the early start. I mention that I'm not wearing a watch and as he starts to look at his to tell me what our time is, I stop him.  We cross the finish together and then I turn to him for our time.

4:52," he says.  I laugh. Just as predicted.  Without a watch and with only one timed point on the course. Maybe I should have bought a lottery ticket.

Epilogue
My official time is 4:52:44.  The four early starters who finished under five hours are not disqualified.  I have a bowl of chili, a Pepsi and some birthday cake in honor of the first President's birthday at the post-race meal.  I finish 154 of 222 overall, 112 of 151 males and 15 of 25 in my age group.

Rosaryville Veterans Day 50K, November 13, 2010

JeanneLouWho, elegantly attired in a red wool coat, matching red beret and a star spangled silk scarf, beautifully sings the National Anthem on a brilliantly clear crisp fall morning for the 89 runners awaiting the 8 a.m. start of the inaugural Rosaryville Veterans Day 50K in Upper Marlboro, MD. Some of the runners join in. Members of the United States Naval Academy's cross country team stand at attention. The race, put on by the Annapolis Striders, is taking place in Rosaryville State Park, a 982 acre hidden gem just a few miles southwest of Andrews Air Force base off US 301. The Washington, DC, area is blest with trails, and these are ones that those of us who live north of DC don't know about.

The course consists of three loops of the ten mile-long single track Perimeter Trail, with about 3/4 of a mile in a mowed field and then some park road from a pavilion at the beginning of the race to spread out the field, and the same stub for the return. The track is mostly in the woods and gently undulating without much in the way of serious ascent or descent. There are a few tree roots and even fewer rocks, but nothing that requires much more than ordinary attention and not enough to distupt running stride. The trail has two stream crossings, but today the water is down. One stream is easy to leap over and the other has a log in it the enables a dry crossing. The course twice goes under a powerline and briefly skirts a pair of fields. There are two aid stations on the course, the first at the point where the loop begins and ends, and the second halfway around the loop.

It is cool at the start with temperatures in the mid-30s, but will warm to 63, so dressing is a bit of a challenge. I elect to start in my shorts, but wear a cap, gloves and my Miwok buff around my neck. Within a couple of miles I've taken off the hat but the gloves last a while longer. After the first loop I drop the gloves and hat at the aid station which also doubles as a place where runners can leave drop bags. The volunteers return all the bags and other items left at the station to the start before the end of the race.

A couple of weeks earlier at the Marine Corps Marathon I had success with a run seven minutes, walk one minute strategy and I've decided to use it again. I have some trouble figuring out how to maximize use of my watch for the cycle, but after about 15 miles I have it figured out. What the solution means however is that I routinely won't be flipping back to either the time of day or lap time functions on the watch. And that means that I won't know how I'm progressing.

The course is very well marked and since the footing is pretty good, one can spend some time looking at the scenery. There are no spectacular views as there are at other races, but the woods are infused with a golden light from from the mostly yellow and brown leaves on the ground and on the trees. A moment of inattentiveness allows a rise in the ground to catch my foot and I stumble and fall gently, dirtying my right calf, but without so much as an abrasion on either my leg or my hands. "Down but not out," I assure a runner who sees me fall, as I pop back up.

Passed the second aid station a runner tells me that trail bikers use the course. As if on cue a couple of riders come toward us. We'll see bike riders the rest of the day going in both directions, but all are unfailingly polite and there are no problems over sharing the trail. Later I meet a woman riding her horse in the woods, but mostly on trails that cross the trail we are running on.

I finish the first loop in 1:53. A bit quick I think. A flicker of a thought that I can go under six hours crosses my mind. On the plus side, the course is very runnable, I've now seen it all, and there are no difficult sections. On the down side is that there are still 20 miles to go, the day is getting warmer and slowing down is inevitable.

After I disposed of my hat and gloves I'd moved the buff to my wrist, but it it is hot there so I roll it up and wrap it around my head to catch the sweat which is starting to drip down.

About four miles into the second loop a photographer is busy shooting the passing runners. "What goes up must go down," he says of the rolling section of the course. "If the up lasts more than three hours," I reply, "call your doctor."

A little way past the second aid station, about mile 16, the first place runner passes me. He's done 26 miles to my 16. I try to do some mental arithmetic as to the ratio of our times, and figure that I'm about on my regular pace, which is to run about 54 percent of the distance covered by race winners when they are finished. Four or five more runners a lap ahead will pass me before I finish the second loop.

I finish the second loop in about 3:49. One loop to go, the 7/1 running has me feeling strong, and absent a catastrophic fall, I'm confident that I'll break my 50K PR of 6:37. What about six hours? I've got 11 minutes in the bank, but on the other hand, there is that extra three-quarters of a mile at the end.

I decide not to worry about. I've got the routine of using the timer function of the watch down so that I never have to look at either the time of day or the elapsed time. Run seven. Walk at the beep. Reset the time. When it counts down to six minutes, reset it again and run seven. Repeat. If I walk an uphill during the seven minutes, don't worry about it.

About mile 26 I finally hit the 'bad patch.' It is that point in an ultra when you start to wonder why you are doing it. Marathon runners 'hit the wall,' a point when they have depleted all their glycogen and start to have to rely on fat reserves for energy. It often seems that there is no recovery from the wall as it is based on physiology. Ultra runners don't seem to experience the wall. It may be because they are eating throughout the race, or are used to going longer distances or are better at pacing. The bad patch obviously has physiological components, but more of it seems mental. Today, it is a not-so-bad bad patch. It isn't very deep and doesn't last very long, maybe because I've been having a fine day. I avoid the temptation to glance at my elapsed time. I figure I should be able to finish under 6:10 or 6:15.

I exit the woods and get on the road to the finish. It is a long uphill and while I run some of it, I also walk a fair amount. Cresting the hill I can see the finish maybe 400 yards off. The red glow of the clock is visible, but it's too far away to see the numbers. My watch beeps and I take my one minute walk.

Finally I'm off the road and in the field. One hundred and fifty yards of tall grass, slightly uphill, to go. Someone is standing between me and the clock. Fifty yards to go and now I can see the hour number: '5.' Forty five yards and I can see '5:5' but not the unit minutes or seconds. Closer now. And finally the full clock: '5:59:42.' Sprint! Six hours is within range and sight. Cross the line. Gasp for air. Hands on knees. Did I make it? The race director comes over and congratulates me. "You were under six hours," he says. When the official results are posted the next day my time is 5:59:59. I finish 60 of 89.

After catching my breath I walk over to the pavilion for a Coke and a baked potato. I top the potato with cheese and a curried corn topping. And I collect my glass finishers mug to go with the hat I received when I registered in the morning.

When I get home I notice that salt is caked on the bridge of my nose and that my black shirt has salt stains as well. Fortunately I had taken two Succeed tablets during the race which helped replace - or contributed - to the salt I lost through my skin.

Marine Corps Marathon, October 31, 2010

The Plan

"I'll call you in six minutes," Emaad texts the day before the Marine Corps Marathon. He's all excited about his success using the Galloway run/walk system at the Army Ten Miler last week. The phone rings promptly six minutes later. He tries to convince me that using the system and walking one minute will enable us to run MCM in 4:27, ten minutes faster than either of us have ever run a marathon.

After running out of steam toward the end of the Wineglass Marathon I'm more than willing to try the walk/run method with him. But I don't share his optimism that we can run the entire marathon at the pace he ran the Army Ten Miler.

"But I was just as fresh at the end as I was when I started," he states.

"We have to go more than two and a half times the distance," I gently remind him.

He agrees and throttles back a bit on the enthusiasm but he's definitely ready and looking forward to tomorrow.

Tres Amigos Dos

Promptly at 6:00 a.m. Emaad and Wayne roll up to my house. I'm ready and we pile into my car for the drive to the MCRRC hospitality suite prior to the race. Last year we left a bit later and only got across the Key Bridge after some cajoling of the police who had closed it to traffic to Virginia. This year we take no chances and cross the Potomac on the Beltway and earlier time. We make quick time getting to the Rosslyn Holiday Inn and the suite.

This is the second (or third) time the three of us have done MCM together, and coincidentially this year, we are attired in a patriotic combination of red, white, and blue shirts, appropriate for the Marines own marathon. Wayne is also planning to use a run/walk strategy but on a different interval than Emaad and I. We'll start together, but then be on our own, although we all expect to be close to one another as we were last year.

We stroll to the start where we meet Heather H. All of us have something extra on to ward off the bit of chill in the morning air before the sun will warm us up. The Tres Amigos are wearing large trash bags and Heather has a throw-away shirt and a light sweatshirt.

Seventeen seconds after the scheduled 8:00 a.m. starting time the Marine howitzer barks and the marathon begins. It takes us twelve minutes to reach the start line, but we begin to run as we get to the line. This year seems more crowded than last year's MCM, and there are places through Arlington that force walking simply because of the numbers of runners. Headed down Spout Run, a stretch whose descent should allow us to make some time, is crowded and we are forced to weave and walk.

We cross Key Bridge and head out Canal Road and proceed up Reservoir Road onto MacArthur Boulevard. Now that the crowds have thinned out a bit, we are sticking to the run seven/walk one schedule. We leapfrog with Wayne, catching up to him during his walks and falling behind during ours.

Emaad is in good spirits. Part of it is the glorious weather, part of it is the effacy of the strategy and most it is because he is running with the over 87oo women who will make up 40 percent of the 21,856 finishers today. A woman goes past us wearing a football jersey. "I love to see women in football jerseys," he purrs.

As we pass Georgetown University, we pass some cheerleaders on the sidewalk. Emaad, a Syracuse University graduate, tries to get their attention by yelling "''Cuse, 'Cuse, 'Cuse," but they ignore him. Then we are in the heart of Georgetown and the crowds are electric. Loud, boisterous and dynamic they line both sides of the street. Cheering, music playing, shouting, they energize us as we turn first down Wisconsin Avenue, then K Street to begin the long trek down to Haines Point and the halfway point.

Emaad seems to be tiring just a little bit as we approach mile 14 so I tell him that I'll stay with him until at least mile 20. I give him one of my Succeed electrolyte capsules. We make the seemingly long slog along Constitution Avenue from the Lincoln Memorial, and then we are on the Mall. We catch up with Wayne again but as has been happening all day, we start are walk and he goes on.

The Bethesda Rebel Runners have set up an unofficial aid station across from the National Gallery of Art just beyond mile 18. Even though I know it is going to be there, I almost run past it, but at the last moment spot daughter Hilary. I get some pretzels and chocolate chip cookies. Emaad has missed it, but he slows down to allow me to catch up, and then Rebecca R., who has organized the station comes along and asks if she can get us anything. We arrange for her to meet us on the other side of the Mall after we circle around the foot of Capitol Hill.

Passing an aid station as we return to the Mall, I grab not one or two packets of sports beans, but four of them. As we meet up with Rebecca and Hilary, who have brought us more goodies from the Rebel Runners, I give them the packets as I take more chocolate chip cookies. It may be one of the few times in running history that a runner has tried to restock an aid station.

Emaad is starting to obviously fade more now. "There's a woman in a Brett Favre jersey," I point out to lift his spirits. But it doesn't do the trick. "I've got standards," he unfairly replies. It's less the standards than the distance, I think.

Mile 20 comes just before the approach to the 14th Street Bridge. I tell Emaad that I'm feeling good and am going on, and he gives me a farewell wave and wishes me good luck. I credit the feeling to the seven/one method we have been practicing, and the goos and other things I have been eating. I decide to keep it up for the remaining 10K of the race.

In previous MCM's the bridge has often been the low point of the race. There are few spectators on the straight mile-long barren concrete highway with the sun shining down at the time that most runners start to hit 'the wall.' Police boats patrol the waters beneath the bridge. About halfway across the bridge I catch up with Wayne and Heather. They are in the midst of one of their walk breaks as I pass them. This time the bridge is not a problem for me and I cruise into Crystal City looking forward to the beer at the Hash House Harriers unofficial aid station. They do not disappoint.

I'm in good spirits. I ask a pregnant runner if they charged her two entry fees. I'm enjoying the costumed runners as today is Halloween, and I've seen brides, superheroes (male and female), chicken man and even Satan, complete with bib number 666. I note that everyone in the race is actually in costume and could go out for Halloween as a marathon runner.

Run seven, walk one. Only in the last mile do I begin to falter a bit and walk a little bit more. But that has a purpose of making sure I have enough energy to run up the hill to the finish line at the Marine Corps Memorial, the iconic Iwo Jima statue. I do and finish in 4:40:05, my best time of my five MCMs.

With my medal around my neck, place there as tradition dictates by a Marine lieutenant, I leave the finish area, get my USAA finisher's coin from its booth and walk back to the Holiday Inn. I'm eating lasagna and washing it down with a non-alcoholic beer - I've got to drive Tres Amigos home - when Wayne comes in. He finished in 4:48, meeting his goal of finishing under five hours due to his lack of training. Emaad does indeed fade the last six miles, finishing in 4:56. But like Wayne he, too, had his training disrupted by an injury, so he is not particularly disappointed Heather also finishes in 4:56.

Wineglass Marathon, October 3, 2010

Four Runners; Four Goals; One Race
Hilary, me, Jennifer and Kenny pose for a picture at the Bully Hill Winery in Hammondsport the day before the Wineglass Marathon. We've just had lunch at the restaurant and enjoyed both the food and the views of Keuka Lake. Now we are about to drive the course from Bath on our way to packet pickup in Corning.

Each of us has a goal for the race: Hilary to complete her first marathon and run it faster than friend Justin's 4:23; Jennifer to prove the naysayers in her group wrong that she can't run under 3:20 - and to reach the podium in her age group; Kenny to run 3:10 and qualify for his hometown marathon - the Boston Marathon; and me, to set a PR of 4:36 or even to run 4:30.

I recall to myself a story from D-Day. The night before the invasion of Normandy paratroopers lined up to board their gliders as part of the first wave. The commander came out and gave them a pep talk and then some sobering news: German resistance was expected to be heavy and casualties could run 50 percent. Each man looked at another and thought, "poor bastard." That's where we are today, I think. We might all make it, or there may be some casualties. And we have now way of knowing which of us might be in which column tomorrow.

As we drive the course, Jennifer becomes increasingly excited. She's amped up for the race and loves the course's flatness. Kenny and Hilary are more quiet. This will be my third Wineglass and I know the course, so I'm able to provide some additional information at it as we drive.

In Corning we collect our bibs and goody bags, which contain a split of sparkling wine, a long sleeve technical shirt and, for the first time that I've run the race, a wineglass. The men receive black shirts and the women a much more attractive deep purple one. After a brief visit to the small expo where Kenny picks up some GUs, we head back to our house in Watkins Glen. We have a meal of whole grain pasta with tomato basil sauce, garlic bread and salad. Kenny and Jennifer turn in early, Hilary goes to the movies to see Wall Street and I watch some TV and fuss laying out my kit for the morning.

Sunday morning arrives with temperatures in the low to mid 40s, higher than the predicted upper 30s. The forecast has removed any chance of showers. We wind up blest with a wonderful day to run, and I elect to run with shorts, a single longsleeved shirt and my Miwok buff to keep my head warm at the start.

We drive to Corning to board busses to the start in Bath. It seems like a long ride - our version of the flight over the Channel to the drop zone. Hilary and Jennifer share a seat and chat. Kenny and I get seats of our our own and partly fiddle with our phones and partly rest.

Disembarking at the lighting plant in Bath about 50 minutes before the 8 a.m. start, we all head to the portapotties. We get separated, but I find Hilary and we wait on the short line to get into the plant to keep warm. Jennifer calls me and comes in as well. We seem to have lost Kenny.

Ten minutes to race time we go outside. Jennifer and I toss our drop bags into the truck that will take our things back to the finish. I take a quick picture of the other two and then we all go off to find our spot amongst the 2000 runners waiting for the start. I find the 4:30 pacer and get further behind him. I'm determined not to go out too fast as I've done frequently in the past. I'm hoping for a 4:30, but want to start out slowly.

After a mile I've pushed the buff down around my neck and hiked up my sleeves, but my hands are cold. Around mile 2 I spot a pair of gloves that someone has discarded by the side of the course, and I pick them up and put them on. As I struggle with the second glove I realize that they are both left handed. Nevertheless I wear them for a mile until my hands warm up and I discard them by another pair by the side of the road that look remarkably similar. Maybe they are the two rights and I've reunited them, I think.

I get through six miles a minute and a half slower than in 2009. My plan to go out slowly seems to be working. Somewhere around mile seven or eight I catch up with the 4:30 pace group. I don't try to stay with them and slowly I pull slightly ahead.

Passing through the town of Savona at mile 9 a woman runner asks me if I had run Wineglass last year. When I reply in the affirmative, she tells me that she recognized me and that we ran together for a while last year. I remember her. She's Elena R. of Toronto who ran the race last year in hopes of qualifying for Boston. She ran a remarkably steady pace and finished in 4:23 at the age of 59, but had miscalculated the time she needed, which was 4:15. Now that she has turned 60, she only needs to run 4:30 and she is back to try. I remember that last year she ran a remarkably steady pace and I have no doubt that she can.

By now the 4:30 pace group has caught up with us and we join in with them. It is a convivial group, led by Pacer Pete M. from near Baltimore. He and I chat about the JFK 50 Miler and how we are not returning to it this year, as well as other races. He's keeping the group on a very steady pace, and I figure that hanging with them from this point on is a good plan.

We cruise easily through the next miles, past fields with cows and horses, including a pair of magnificent sorrel draft horses. As we approach the halfway point the pace group discusses whether there is a tradition that subjects of the Queen are supposed to recognize her at the halfway point. Elena and another Canadian are just yards ahead so I pick up the pace and ask, since they are still technically subjects of Her Majesty, whether they know if they are supposed to say "God Bless the Queen" at the halfway mark. There is a pause and then one of them replies, "First of all, it's 'God Save the Queen.'" Then I'm advised that there is no such tradition.

We pass the halfway mark in 2:13, giving me a bit of leeway for the second half. I'm starting to feel good about the chance to finish in 4:30, particularly considering that only three weeks earlier I'd shaved 20 minutes from my 50K time.

We get through mile 17 right on pace. Even a traffic jam consisting of a stopped tractor trailer making milk pick-ups at the dairy farms along the two lane road at the aid station at that mile marker doesn't slow us down. But after crossing the railroad tracks in the next mile, Pacer Pete, Elena and the rest of the group slowly begin to pull away from me. It's less that they are pulling away; it's more that I can no longer keep up. I take a Succeed! salt tablet in hopes that it may be of some benefit.

I go through mile 18 on what is technically a 4:30 pace, but the game is up. I just don't have the strength or energy to push it. I have a GU packet that I picked up ten or more miles back and suck on it in hopes that it, like the Succeed! will revive me.

Neither do much good. I'm trudging more than running now. I chat with a second-time marathoner through miles 19 and 20 trying to give her some spirit that I don't feel myself. I glance at my watch a few times during this stretch. I note the passing of 3:10 and wonder if Kenny has made his Boston qualifying. Several minutes later I wonder whether Jennifer has made her goal. I've got a long way to go before I will get those answers.

Just past mile 21 there is woman along the sidewalk offering cups of Yuengling beer. I take a cup and urge my companion to have some. She declines, saying she'll have some after the race. I tout the benefits of complex carbohydrates, but she thinks that alcohol is dehydrating.

On I go. I don't hesitate to tell several runners that I'd much prefer to be running a ultra race in the woods for seven hours than being out here. I cite several reasons: 1) softer surfaces; 2) no mile markers; 3) a varied gait; 4) more scenic; and 5) better food at the aid stations.

In past years the local Hash House Harriers ("a drinking club with a running habit") have had an unofficial refreshment stand just past mile 23. Sure enough, chalked on the path are HHH, then on-on, the call of the hashers. Beer ahead! But when I arrive, the hasher is carrying his folding table to his car. "No beer?," I half question and half moan, and he can only say, 'None. Sorry." Apparently the doubling in size of the race means that us back-of-the-packers are out of luck today.

Maybe it is the lack of beer, or maybe it is having run a trail marathon and a 50K in the four weeks preceding the marathon, but miles 24 and 25 are my slowest of the day. I'm confident that by now Hilary is finished.

And I start to think that maybe I still have an chance for a PR. The inability to do mathematical computations during long runs is a widely recognized phenomenon amongst runners, but near as I can tell, I may still have a chance. Or at least an chance to finish faster than I'm moving now. So I pick up the pace just past mile 25. I pass someone with "Erin - First Marathon" pinned to her back. She is walking. "C'mon," I say, " Stay with me and I'll get you in under 4:40." She doesn't respond, but a quarter mile later passes me. After another block I pick up the pace again and go past her and other runners. About two thirds of a mile to go now. I'm looking at my watch trying to figure if I can do it. I've pretty much figured that there is too little course left, but I don't let up anyway. I cross the line in 4:37:11, missing a PR by 59 seconds.

Pacer Pete brought his group in right on time, as he promised to do, crossing the line in 4:29:45. Elena stayed with them and qualified for Boston in 4:29:49.

I don't see Kenny, Jennifer or Hilary at the finish, or in the refreshments area where I get pepperoni pizza, chicken soup and a Coke. As is often the case after running a long race, my taste buds are off and the pizza and Coke have an odd taste. I eat and drink anyway, but without much gusto and finally discard much of the second piece of pizza.

I find Hilary at her car. "This is the worst thing I ever did," she moans. "My quads are screaming. I'm never doing this again." But it turns out that she ran a smart first-time marathon, finishing in 4:13:44. She made her objective, bettering Justin's 4:23 in San Diego last year. Her splits were a reasonable 2:05/2:08, showing a better sense of pacing than her father. Despite my efforts not to fly and die, it is just what I did, with 2:13/2:24 splits.

"Everyone feels like that after a marathon," I assure her, thinking exactly the same thought she has just expressed. "Wait until Wednesday until you make that decision."

Kenny has failed in his Boston qualifying effort, running 3:13:35. He was on pace through mile 20, and then his thighs began to tighten up. When I see him, he is fairly upbeat, as he ran a marathon PR even though he didn't get his BQ. His full report is here.

Kenny sees Jennifer finish, gasping for breath. She has willed herself to run hard the last six miles even though, as she later reports, she "was in a very dark place." It pays off and Jennifer hits the trifecta. Her 3:18:30 is not only good enough to qualify for Boston, but she finishes fifth in her age group. That gets her a spot on the podium, and she gets a white short-sleeve Wineglass shirt as a prize. And may most importantly for her, it's under the 3:20 that her pace group at home told her that she couldn't get under. "My husband told me I had to show them they were wrong," she says later. "When I couldn't think of a single happy thought, I thought of his words."

In a way, we all ran smartly paced races compared to the 1482 other finishers. From mile 9 to the finish Kenny improved his standing by 14 places (from 136 to 122); I improved by 58 places (from 1246 to 1188); Jennifer by 122 places (from 283 to 161) ; and Hilary by 131 places (from 1045 to 914), a remarkable showing of pace-management for a first-time marathoner.

After showers we gather for post-race beers to celebrate, commiserate and congratulate and to prepare for the drive home. Kenny and Jennifer state their intention to return in 2011 for the 30th anniversary Wineglass Marathon. Hilary is still adamant about how awful the last three miles were. She is one and done with marathons. "Don't decide until Wednesday," I repeat.

On Monday Hilary emails the three of us: "I dont know if you guys slipped me something, but I would be up for doing it again next year. In fact I am already thinking about the Madison Marathon in May 2011. [I] guess it didn't suck THAT MUCH."

Groundhog Fall 50k, September 11, 2010

Phabulous Phun with Punxsutawney Phil!

Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania is a bit of a one-horse town. Actually, it's a one animal town, namely, the groundhog. Punxsutawney Phil, who is certainly the best-known of the supposed spring-predicting groundhogs is honored by at least 32 six-foot tall fiberglass Phils in the town. In the few blocks of downtown Punxsutawney it is impossible to look in any direction and not see multiple representations of Phil.

And no visit to Punxsutawney, even to run a 50K race, would be complete without an opportunity to meet the real Phil. Which I get to do at the spaghetti dinner the night before the race. Phil makes the rounds of the dinner on the shoulder of a member of the Inner Circle, Phil's caretakers.

Naturally, the Pantall Hotel, where I'm staying for the race and where the dinner is being held, has its own "Phil'd with Service" outside. Since one should never bypass a chance to have one's picture taken with a six-foot tall fiberglass groundhog, Gayatri, who has carpooled with me to the race, and I go outside and take each other's picture with the impossibly friendly, if immobile, creature.

I wander off to buy some bagels for the morning and drop a postcard in the mail for my aunt. On the two block walk I spy at least half a dozen other Phils. Before heading off to my room I stop at the hotel bar for a beer. "Hydration," I think to myself. Back in the room I eat a cookie that I had bought on the drive up.

Can You Run if You Can't Stand?

At 4:30 I awake. Not because my alarm has gone off or because I'm nervous about the race and can't sleep. It's my stomach. It's bloated and distended and starting to feel painful. I get occasional attacks of this nature and generally the only thing I can do is lay down until the attacks passes in several hours. Since the race starts at 700 only two blocks from the hotel, I figure that I have a chance that the attack will pass before I start to run. I spend a restless couple of hours trying that plan.

Promptly at 7:00 the mayor of Punxsutawney climbs a ladder by the start line, says 'go' and the 74 starters are off. Two hours earlier, 22 "trekkers," including Gayatri, set off in the dark.

Unfortunately for me, my stomach is not cooperating. In fact, I can barely run. I can't stand up straight. I can run a bit and walk, and I would be wiser and more comfortable lying down in bed waiting for the episode to pass. But, no, I paid to run in this race, drove 200 miles, paid for a hotel room, and by God, whether it feels bad or not, I'm going to run this damn race. Or at least walk it. Or at the very least, start it and DNF.

The course is an interesting mix of paved and gravel country road, trail and dirt logging and mining roads. We go uphill out of town past the high school, then onto a gravel road and then a dirt road that becomes a wide trail. At one point we pass a tree stand that appears to be made of about thirty packing pallets piled upon each other and secured with random boards running at various angles. We climb a hill and reach the top of Two Beers Hill.

The hill is a very steep and rutted with loose talus making footing uncertain. Working downhill takes concentration and planning and I zig-zag slowly down the hill. When I get to the bottom I realize that my stomach is not bothering me, either do to concentrating on the descent or from having contracted my abdominal muscles on the way down.

Unfortunately the relief doesn't last long, and I spend much of the time to the Buck Run Aid station at mile 7 walking. The scenery is pleasant - mostly forest single track, so skirting a nicely reclaimed strip mine. Leaving Buck Run I down a Succeed!, figuring that the salt tablet can't likely do any more harm than what I'm feeling and it might help.

From Buck Run, the course takes two laps of a 8.1 mile loop. Unaccountably, I feel cold and put my gloves back on for a while. About a mile into the loop the trail ascends the steep but relatively short (300 feet) climb up Yellow Bus hill. Having endured the 700+ feet climb of Virgil Mountain on technical trails three weeks earlier, the hill doesn't seem so bad. Despite the pain in my stomach, I manage to fake running for the photographer waiting at the top.

From Yellow Bus the trail gradually descends until the foot of Cry Baby hill, another short (about 150 feet) but steep ascent. But my stomach pain continues, making running difficult. All morning I send out a series of tweets complaining of my condition.

From Cry Baby the course generally descends on a logging road that now appears to be used for gas mining. The area around Punxsutawney is replete with small wells collecting natural gas extracted through the use of 'fracking,' a process that involves shattering the shale that the gas is trapped in thousands of feet below.

After passing through the Seven Springs Aid station about halfway through the loop (mile 11.2) the course follows Big Run uphill. The footing is a bit soft and wet as natural springs on the side of the hill provide water for the run, and the water crosses the trail to get to the run.

It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn

Leaving the run the course follows a gravel road back to the Buck Run Aid station. It's on this road that the leaders, now finishing their second loop while I'm still on my first go by. I'm going along with Amy B. who is running her first ultra. We have a nice chat, but my stomach is killing me and I'm starting to think that I'll quit when I get back to Buck Run. The other half of my brain argues that this is just 'a bad patch' and it will pass.

When I get to the aid station I notice that there are Tums on the table! I had missed them the first time thru. Maybe there is some relief here. And I've done 15.1 miles; nearly halfway done. There really isn't any debate now and I start the second loop.

I'm feeling decent now - not great - but I can run. I notice that there are no groundhogs to be seen, but plenty of chipmunks, who scurry away at my approach. They rustle leaves as they scamper away into their hiding places.

The second loop is uneventful and near the end I'm feeling close to normal. Kathy B. and I leapfrog each other over Cry Baby Hill, through the Seven Springs aid station and on the way back to Buck Run for the third and final visit.

We leave the aid station together and resume our leapfrogging. I take her picture as she passes again then run off and catch her as we head up Tower Hill on a return course that differs slightly from the one we went out on.

Tower Hill is another one of the course's typical short, steep inclines. I power walk up, leaving Kathy behind for the last time. Up and over and it leads to a long flat stretch of grass - perhaps the floor of an old reclaimed strip mine.

In the distance I spot a runner, and to make the time go faster and for motivation I play a mind game: "Lion of the Serengeti." The open, grassy terrain inspires me. I'm the lion and the runner up ahead is the prey. Patiently I stalk the unsuspecting victim gradually closing the distance between us. He doesn't know it yet, but he will be run down and figuratively devoured.

As I draw even with Joe D., I ask him, "Which are you, kudu or zebra?" I explain my game to him and he selects zebra. Joe and I had been together early on and he knew of my stomach troubles and encouraged me hours earlier. We reach the Adrian Aid station (mile 27.3) together but I leave him as we begin the walk up Two Beers Hill. It's easier to ascend than it was to descend hours ago. Traversing the rest of the course is routine and mostly downhill. I'm feeling pretty good and run steadily. Perhaps my early stomach pain had kept me for going out too fast in my usual 'fly and die' method.

I cross the finish line in 6:37:31, a twenty minute 50K PR for me. Overall I finish 59th of 93, with three other runners who drop out. Gayatri finishes in 8:26, but having taken the early start, only has to wait about ten minutes for me to finish. First timer Amy B crosses in 7:08, with scrapes on both knees, a hand and her chin from a fall later in the race. We all collect the dark blue Groundhog Fall 50K folding camp chairs finisher's premium to add to our runner's premiums of a shirt, Groundhog Beer and a stuffed Phil.

Gayati and I eat, including spectacularly delicious homemade cookies and desserts as well as pizza, take showers and head home, happy from our time visiting with Punxsutawney Phil and friends.

Monster Trail Marathon, September 5, 2010

After a quick stop at the registration table to pay my $25 entrant fee, an application of vasoline to guard against chafing and a decision to where a long sleeve shirt to start the race, I walk the twenty feet to the start line of the Monster Marathon in Virgil State Forest, south of Cortland, New York. It's a beautiful day to run and Sandy and her niece Kathy are dropping me off while they proceed to Syracuse to go to the State Fair.

At precisely 7:17, we're off! Actually, that's 'I'm off!' as the race uses an age- and sex-graded handicapped start, and I get a 43 minute handicap in advance of the official 8:00 a.m. start. Since there are no others in my age group, I start alone.

The course consists of two repeats of a 13.1 mile round trip out and back. The first .85 mile is downhill on a gravel road. Easy, and a nice way to warm up for what follows. The course goes by what is a forwarning of what is to come, namely a chairlift to the top of the ski resort of Greek Peak.

But the road goes a bit further, and near the end of the gravel road chalk on the ground directs the runners to turn right onto the Finger Lakes Trail. Within a few paces the trail crosses a stream and heads uphill.

"Follow the white blazes," I repeat to myself, but within a couple of minutes I'm on what might be the trail, or not, and my eyes are scanning the trees looking for blazes. Another runner comes along and says, 'The trail is over here." Sure enough there are plenty of white blazes in that direction. I haven't been running for more than ten or eleven minutes, and someone has already made up the handicap on me. He won't be the last by any means. But at last I'm on the trail.

The single track proceeds steeply uphill. For the next 25 minutes its an unrelentingly steep climb on a trail with roots and rocks nearly every step of the way. It levels out a bit, then goes uphill a bit more, although not as steeply. Finally, I reach the top of Virgil Mountain after a climb of about 700 feet over 1.5 miles of trail. Although the summit is the highest point within 70 miles, the thick woods preclude much of a view other than from a powerline cut near the summit.

In another mile I come to the first aid station. I'm feeling fresh, so I grab some sports drink, a couple of chocolate chip cookies and some Pringles and dash off. Since the course is two laps of an out and back, I'll visit here four times before the day is over and I figure there will be ample time to socialize with the two volunteers later in the day.

The course continues its up and down nature over rocky and rooted terrain for the next three miles to the turnaround aid station. On the way I start to get passed by more and more of the later starters. But since there are 37 starters in the marathon, most of the running during the early part of the race is done alone. I do catch up with one runner who started before me and we trade stories of our experiences at the Miwok 100K, which he and his wife had run several times.

Another runner goes by wearing a Dipsea shirt. "Dipsea or Quad Dipsea," I ask. "Quad," he says, referring to a notoriously tough 28-mile run in California which requires runners to navigate over 800 irregular steps on steep slopes - four times. For him, the 5500 feet of climb and descent of the Monster Marathon should be easy work, even if it isn't for the rest of us. Another pair of runners are discussing whether to go to South Africa to run in the 56 mile Comrades Marathon. "Hardcore folks out today," I think.

Then Brennan M. catches up to me. We exchange greetings and he tells me that this is his first marathon. He's nuts to choose this as his first, I think. Later he tells me that he enjoys trail running and had done a 30K trail run, so there is logic to his choice. And he can be assured that any other marathon that he runs will give him a better time.

Leaving the turn-around quickly I start to see the first of the 52 half-marathoners headed out-bound. I stop at the intermediate aid station and ask one of the volunteers to take my picture.

At one point the course comes out of the woods and follows a gravel road for a few hundred yards. There is a volunteer there to check off runners and as I turn onto the gravel road and begin to proceed up it he yells to me that I'm about to follow a driveway rather than the road itself. "There's kind of a strange guy who lives up there he warns," and I don't know if he is joking or serious.

The steep downhills are starting to make my quads sore. After exiting onto the gravel road leading back to the start - and the turnaround for the second tour of the course - I find that I can't do much running on the slightly uphill surface, even though it is one of the rare places where the footing is good. Getting to the turnaround, I go to my bag, drop off my hat and change from the long sleeve shirt to a short sleeved one and head back out. It took 1:28 to go out and 1:37 to come back, even though the return was net downhill, for a half marathon time of 3:05.

The second outbound leg is tough going. At least I know the course and know that the Virgil Mountain climb will only take about 25 or 30 minutes. On the way up I take a picture of the steam boiler that is sitting by the side of the trail. It looks like part of a locomotive, but more likely it was used during logging operations in the forest at some point in the past. But how it was dragged up to this point midway up the mountain, or whether it was assembled there, who knows. But however it got there, it was work that I'm glad that I didn't have to do. I'm having enough trouble dragging myself up the mountain, let alone hundreds of pounds of iron.

Approaching the intermediate aid station, one of the volunteers is running toward me carrying a couple of towels. He asks if I saw a women down on the course, as he had received a report that a runner had fallen and was seriously hurt. But I've seen no one, and neither has the runner who comes into the aid station behind me. The volunteer returns before we leave. Apparently it was a false alarm.

Running the downhills is becoming as hard as the uphills. Too many rocks. Too many roots. Too steep. The excuses multiply and my time deteriorates. It takes 1:55 to get to the outbound turnaround this lap, 27 minutes, and 30 percent more, that the first time. And I'm treating the aid stations more and more like rest stops rather than pit stops. No sense of urgency any more.

Shortly after leaving the turnaround aid station, aptly named 'The Rockpile', I'm passed by first-timer Brennan and Jack R. Jack is from the Catskills so he is used to running in mountains, although he says that at least in the Catskills you get rewarded with vistas for your climb. Off they go while I continue to complain to myself about the lousy footing. Truthfully, the footing is forcing me to pay more attention than I might otherwise, and with the exception of a small ankle jam and a scrape on my shin against a log while getting out of the way of runners coming the other way, I don't fall, stumble or roll an ankle all day.

After a leisurely stop at the mid-course aid station, eating and chatting with the volunteers about their time living in the DC area and their running plans for the coming weeks, I head off for the final three miles, including the descent down Virgil Mountain. My quads are really complaining now, but I reassure them that we'll be done soon. I'm mostly walking the steep parts, but trying to run where the footing is good and the downhill not extreme.

And surprisingly I spot Brennan and Jack ahead! And I'm gaining on them. I pass Jack before we get to the road, and catch Brennan on the gravel road. By now I've really gotten my second wind, and as there are no more rocks and roots, I run a fair amount of the rest of the course, as it is uphill and no cause of complaint for my aching quads.

After crossing the finish line in an official time of 6:10:21 (6:53:21 clock time without my 43 minute handicap), I collect my rewards: a ceramic bead on a string necklace and a 'trail 26.2' oval bumper sticker. I walk over to the picnic area for a turkey wrap, some potato salad and an Arnold Palmer. As I'm leaving, I chat with one of the race officials about the day. "Would you do it again?," she asks. I don't hesitate to respond. "No," I answer, "that was a very tough course."

I wound up 27th of 32 finishers. There were five DNFs. Undoubtedly I'll never finish in the top 30 of any other marathon. Unless I come back to the Monster. Nah, that would be crazy. Still, next year I'd get an additional two minutes added to my handicap. And it is less than a dollar per mile to enter . . . .